Life, satisfaction guaranteed.

The unmistakeable weariness of the finished day sweeps into your head like a luggish breeze. Your eyes are heavy with the sore aftereffects of smoke and screens. A dull ache penetrates your callused mind, rumbling over itself like a tired child, turning in its bed on a school morning. Life has become something entirely different than ever it was before. What may once have gleamed in the bright sun of youth now only stares back at you, through you, with calculating, cold eyes. As a raging river seen through the eyes of a child turns to a small stream when years have passed, optimism and spirit is shrouded with layers and layers of caution and stinging pain, the defenses of the empty, the broken. Your life is reduced to the hum of a fridge, the distant beeping of too many electric gizmos. The steady ticking of the clock changes volume as you drift from thought to thought. Sometimes you don't hear it at all, other times it's clunky tick-tock is thunderous. An echo in an otherwise silent void, the mechanism rolls on. Faultless, the clock. You can't hear it, but all around you there are the plans of your peers rolling on, fulfilled and unfulfilled. The snide, jealous, romantic part of yourself is relieved of the latter, a cold dread passing in the rejection of the former. It's the part of yourself you don't like to talk about, nor draw attention to. But it's there nonetheless, and if it weren't for this all-too-human emotional shame too few of us would be as sincere as we are. Genuine. When you look in a mirror, what do you see? You see one in a million. One of a million. Just one, of a countless sea of bodies. Carve a place in your world, fight, compete, carve. You will be satisfied. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. Satisfaction will find you. One day when motivation has subsided and accomplishments lay strewn at your feet, you will be satisfied. When your daughter looks at you with knowledge and understanding, you will be satisfied.